


cool beans

by fthh



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25845460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fthh/pseuds/fthh
Summary: sometimes i ask for prompts on twitter
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> leonie/bernadetta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [prompt](https://twitter.com/Silverthorns11/status/1293232919813722114)
> 
> 12/08/2020, 2:08 AM BNT

Bernadetta doesn’t know how it came to this, but she’s glad that it has: she’s cosy in the warmth of Leonie’s embrace, working on her latest embroidery project — a gift for a friend — Leonie herself is watching some movie she doesn’t care about on the television, Leonie’s soft breath tickling the back of her neck.

It’s home.

“Hey,” Leonie’s voice cuts through the silence between them, and Bernadetta can feel a hand brushing over her stomach through the fabric of her shirt. “Is this— is this a date?”

Bernadetta leans back to rest on her girlfriend’s shoulder, to acknowledge her question. She hums, pondering. “Well, there’s you, there’s me, there’s food—” she gestures vaguely to the forgotten bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, “—I’d consider this a date.”


	2. "taman firdausi" - dorothea/petra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [prompt](https://twitter.com/sapphic_plant/status/1294602999705350151)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 16/08/2020, 11:36 PM BNT

It feels like 70,000 years have gone by.

In the world down below, however, it’s only been five.

The announcements always come in the afternoon during her tea-times. She’s waiting, waiting, waiting, as usual. Heaven is nice, she has her own modest house, she tends to her garden every day, she sings to a captive audience…

It’s lonely.

(“You know, we could always match you up with someone,” says one of the officers, on one of their weekly check-ins, “one-hundred per cent guaranteed success!”

“That sounds nice, but I'm waiting for my wife,” Dorothea would always decline, “I guess it's a bit morbid, waiting for her to die, but… I just don't think I can love anyone else.”

“That’s beautiful,” they say cheerfully, “can I interest you in an animal companion instead?”)

Something in the air changed that day. She’s more exuberant throughout the day — her eggs turn out better than usual (how she misses her wife’s special omelette), she whistles a jaunty tune while she’s watering the plants (a song she liked to put on during date nights), and she has a skip in her step as she heads to tea-time that afternoon.

**_“TODAY’S ARRIVALS,”_ ** comes the voice, deep, rumbling, sombre,  **_“TODAY’S ARRIVALS.”_ **

Dorothea perks up, watches the newcomers being lead through the gates and into the gardens. She looks at the small crowd, watches them file into the administration building. The usual.

Until—

A shock of magenta enters her vision. It’s not a colour she’s seen a lot around these parts, and what are the chances? What are the chances? Perhaps…?

Beautiful brown skin, tattoos in special characters in a colour matching her hair, it  _ has  _ to be her. Her wife, for whom she’s waited about 70 millennia. Her wife. She’s finally here.

“Petra,” Dorothea calls out before her thoughts can catch up to her.

“Dorothea,” comes the answer, breathless.

Petra runs into her arms and they are locked in a warm embrace, Dorothea taking in her wife’s presence, her wife’s scent, and when they part a little, Petra stands on her tiptoes to greet her with a kiss out of habit.

“Petra,” Dorothea says again, smiling. She drinks in the sight: Petra’s wrinkles, her very visible crow’s feet, her skin not as elastic as it once was. Her hair is dusted with grey — she’d long ago stopped covering up the signs of her aging. “You don’t look a day over seventy.”

“I am seventy-five,” Petra clarifies. “I am afraid I have been aging between our last encounter and now.”

Dorothea hugs her once again. It’s been five long years of waiting! And now here she is, finally!

“I’m glad you’re here,” Dorothea says, kissing the skin at Petra’s shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too, my queen.”

A smile, another exchange of kisses. Dorothea takes Petra’s hand, then, and starts leading her home. “Come on, there’s a big dog I’d like you to meet.”


	3. "eva's big day" - mercedes/ingrid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [prompt](https://twitter.com/astionchariot/status/1294642384253247488)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 19/08/2020, 03:16 AM BNT

Eva takes a sip from her juice box and smiles at Mercedes. “Thank you, Mommy,” she says politely.

“So how was your day? Did you do anything interesting with Ingrid?”

“We met Uncle Sylvain, Uncle Felix, and Uncle Dimitri,” Eva says, stabbing at a chicken nugget with a fork. “Mommy, I had fun!”

“That’s good,” Mercedes says with a soft smile, putting a hand over Ingrid’s on her lap next to her.

Eva’s attention is back on the television, her mother and Ingrid forgotten on the couch behind her. She happily hums along to the theme song of whatever cartoon is playing.

“Thank you for babysitting her today,” Mercedes whispers to her girlfriend, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I appreciate it a lot.”

“It’s no big deal. I like hanging out with Eva. She’s nice.”

“You’re not saying that just because you want to impress me?”

“That’s, um, I, uh—” Ingrid squints at Mercedes, barely suppressing her laughter, “—hey, that’s mean!”

“Mommy is being mean?” Eva asks, turning back.

“Your Mommy is teasing me,” Ingrid corrects herself.

“Which is not nice,” Mercedes continues. She makes sure Eva is watching them before taking one of Ingrid’s hands and kissing her on the knuckles. “I’m sorry, Ingrid.”

Satisfied, the seven-year-old goes back to the television and her juice box and chicken nuggets. Mercedes hums happily to a vague tune, her attention nowhere in particular. She rests her head on Ingrid’s shoulder, hands drawing indistinct shapes over Ingrid’s knuckles.

“So what did you guys do?”

“Well, Dimitri showed her his favourite cheese wheel, Felix was  _ still _ talking about his scythe vs. sword debate, and Sylvain took her to a gallery,” Ingrid lists off, “which is honestly just him taking her to his museum on Animal Crossing.”

Mercedes laughs at that. “Well, Eva says she had fun so I’m not complaining.”

“She did. On the way home she wouldn’t stop talking about—”

“SON OF A BITCH!”

Both of them turn their attention to the child on the floor. Eva has crushed her juice box and is trying to suck more through the straw, but to no avail. “Eva, darling, who taught you that?” Mercedes asks, concerned lacing her tone.

“Mommy Ingrid said it today when Uncle Sylvain stole her drink. I thought it was funny,” Eva says with a giggle.

Mercedes turns to Ingrid with a Look.

“I— uh… hey, Mercie, look! Eva called me Mommy Ingrid for the first time! Let’s talk about that instead!”


End file.
